


Till Your Presence of Body

by Mara



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-08
Updated: 2011-01-08
Packaged: 2017-10-14 13:42:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/149790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mara/pseuds/Mara
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John's getting tired of parts in the fridge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Till Your Presence of Body

**Author's Note:**

  * For [griffinmaxwell](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=griffinmaxwell).



John closed the fridge with a sigh. Honestly, he'd thought the head was the worst it could get and once he'd survived that, he was ready for anything. It turned out, however, that maggots could survive in the cold. Or...had Sherlock actually turned the temperature up?

Leaning his head against the door, John sighed again. Then he remembered the maggots and stepped away. "Sherlock!"

"Mmm?" came the voice from the living room.

"Maggots? Seriously?"

"Yes!" Sherlock swept in like a slightly ungainly bird, eyes gleaming. "You see, I have this theory that--"

Shuddering, John cut him off. "I don't want to know. I need to eat something that isn't takeaway now and then and I _will not eat anything that's been near maggots_!"

Sherlock blinked, looking disappointed. "Oh. I thought you might be interested in the experiment."

"No. No, I'm not. I just wanted to eat. I didn't think that was too much to ask for."

"The maggots are contained. And they might free a man if I'm correct."

"Today I don't care." John stomped out of the kitchen and grabbed his jacket. He almost said he was going out, but he couldn't stand to have Sherlock point out he was stating the obvious.

With effort, he didn't slam the door behind him, in the hopes that Mrs. Hudson could be kept out of it. He really couldn't bear her sympathy over their little domestic.

The sun was shining, although the air was cool, and John stuck his hands in his pockets and started to walk. It was good walking weather and he found his pace almost immediately, not really paying attention to where he was, just enjoying the air.

After a few minutes, he began to relax and feel bad. Maybe he _had_ overreacted? But honestly, he had to set a few limits or Sherlock would get worse and even Mrs. Hudson wouldn't be able to stand them. He had to be the one to set limits or else he might have to move out and--John's mind shied away from that.

Head down against the cold breeze, he concentrated on his breathing and the slightly uneven pavement. Which is why it took him a while to notice the car that was pacing him. The window was down and bloody Mycroft Holmes was looking out, his expression rather odd.

"What do you want?" John asked. He felt a little bad about the rudeness, but he really hated to have a nice walk ruined by one of the Holmes brothers.

An eyebrow raised. "Why to have a chat, of course."

"Of course." John hmmphed in annoyance before stopping. He was tempted to refuse, but who knew what lengths the man would go to, especially since he'd bothered to come himself rather than send a minion. "Fine."

The car door opened and John slid in next to Mycroft. Crossing his arms, John stared at him.

Unsurprisingly, Mycroft wasn't the least discomfited by the look and he smiled entirely insincerely. "Thank you, Dr. Watson. I wished to speak to you about my brother's, ah, predilections."

John stared. "I don't--"

Mycroft actually looked surprised. "Oh no, not like that. That is a matter purely between yourself and my brother. No, I meant his predilections for trying to show his friendship."

"I don't understand."

"Perhaps I can put this a different way. I believe you had a dog when you were a child." (It wasn't a question.)

"How did...yes, Harry and I had a dog."

Mycroft tapped a manicured nail on his knee. "And did this dog ever perhaps bring you a gift?"

John opened his mouth. And closed it. And opened it again. "Like a dead rabbit?" he finally said weakly.

"Precisely."

John covered his face. "You're saying," he said through his hands, "that the body parts Sherlock brings home are gifts."

"Not in exactly the same sense as your dog, perhaps, but very similar. Sherlock wants to show off to you, because he knows you admire his abilities."

"Oh god."

"He also considers that skulls and kidneys make a house a home."

"Oh god, he's nesting. With maggots."

"Exactly!" Mycroft sounded pleased and John peeked between his fingers to see the smug expression. "It's very important to him."

"But...maggots?" John sensed that somehow he'd already lost quite a bit of control here.

Tilting his head, Mycroft shrugged very slightly. "The maggots might have been a tad much and I think a gentle discussion might find a solution to that problem."

John dropped his hands. "But if I don't let him keep the body parts, he thinks I'm rejecting his ability to, what, be a good flatmate or husband or something?"

"Exactly!" Mycroft beamed at him. "I knew you would understand."

John leaned his head back against the very expensive upholstery. "Why me?" he asked the universe. "Why couldn't I get the flatmate who brings back chocolates? Or collects Arsenal jerseys?"

"I'm sure I could find those things for you."

"That's not...never mind." John rubbed his forehead. "I'll figure it out, I suppose. But can I ask why Sherlock has developed this habit?"

"It began when we were children and there was a--"

"Wait," John said, holding up a hand. "Is this story going to be more disturbing than the maggots?"

Mycroft considered the question. "Possibly?"

"Then I retract my question. I'll take my chances with the maggots."

"Excellent! We'll just drop you off at Baker Street, then?"

"Fine. Thank you." John sighed and stared out the window. He wondered if he was ever going to understand the Holmes brothers. And did he actually _want to_?

\--end--


End file.
